I watched Oliver absorb my words, his brows lifting and his back straightening. He looked like someone had just taken an entire piano’s worth of weight off of his shoulders. It was almost like this was the first time it had ever occurred to him that his sexual preferences weren’t simply a matter of being gay or straight. That there was an explanation that could make better sense than the ones he’d struggled with for years. That maybe he could fall somewhere in between, and it didn’t have to be an either or situation.
But then his face shut down, the faint light in his eyes flickering to a dull glow. “I don’t know,” he said eventually. “Maybe.”
I should have let him off the hook then. I knew this had been a tougher conversation than he’d intended on us having, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself. Lord knew I was potentially opening up a can of worms neither of us wanted me to open. Still, I’d never been very good at leaving well enough alone.
“What about that weekend was so mind-blowing, if you don’t mind me asking? Maybe there’s something you’re not seeing because you’re too close to the situation.”
He dropped his head back against the leather chair and looked to the ceiling. He chewed on his lip for a long moment, deep in contemplation, before eventually answering. “I don’t really enjoy kissing.”
“You don’t?” I asked, unable to hide my surprise. Oliver Cooper had the best fucking lips I’d ever seen. Soft and pillowy, they were made for kissing.
He shrugged, still unwilling to meet my gaze. If I’d asked him to look at me, he probably would. But he’d likely find this conversation a whole lot easier to get through if he didn’t have to, so I wouldn’t. “It’s okay, I guess. Until that night, though, I’d never understood the appeal. Maybe Rob’s just a good kisser.”
“Maybe,” I agreed, feeling a tightening in my chest and groin that I tried to ignore. I couldn’t speak for Rob’s skill, but I was absolutely a damn good kisser—no maybes about it.
It was no use denying that I was attracted to Oliver. I’d lusted after him on paper for years, his naked form starring in some of my most lurid fantasies. Meeting him in person had only been an improvement. Was I jealous to hear that it was Rob’s kiss and not mine that had awoken Oliver’s desire? Was the sky blue? Did a bear shit in the woods?
But this wasn’t about me.
It was about helping my friend come to terms with the knowledge that he wasn’t as straight as he’d always assumed. Assuming, of course, that I could. There was always the chance that he simply wasn’t ready to accept the truth about his sexuality, whatever it happened to be. I’d meant it when I said I was no expert, but the longer we spoke, the more I thought Oliver might only be able to enjoy sex if he felt an emotional connection with the person he was with. It would explain why all those one night stands had left him feeling empty and unfulfilled.
“Since Rob, have you tried hooking up with someone you legitimately care about?” I asked gently.
Oliver dropped his head forward, and his eyes locked on mine. Tension crackled between us, and I held my breath as I waited for his answer. Finally, he shook his head in the negative, his eyes filled with so much confusion and despair that it damn near gutted me. “Right,” he snorted. “Let me just call up a friend and ask him to kiss me. To help me figure out if I’m actually into guys.”
Even as I told myself it was wrong, that I was in very real danger of ruining the best damn friendship I’d formed in years, I silently pushed to the edge of my bed and set my bare feet flat on the floor in front of me. I leaned back slightly, resting my palms on the mattress on either side of my hips, my body language open and unthreatening. “I mean, you could,” I suggested, my voice trembling with the spoken offer.
I watched as Oliver’s gaze flicked from my eyes down to my mouth and then back up again. His tongue darted out to lick a quick path over his bottom lip. “Don’t fuck with me, Elijah.”
“I wouldn’t dare.” With a sense of clarity I hadn’t expected, I was overcome by one clear thought: if Oliver asked, I’d be more than happy to fuck with him. And if he really wanted, I’d get down on my knees and beg for him to fuck with me, too.
He pressed his palms into the arms of his chair, his fingers sinking deep, and I couldn’t tell if he was about to push to his feet and cross the room or hold himself in place. In truth, I didn’t think he knew what he was going to do either. Indecision warred in his stormy green eyes.
“Ask me, Oliver,” I whispered enticingly, twisting my fingers in the quilt to keep myself from reaching for him. If this was going to happen, he had to come to me—willingly. “I’m here. You can trust me. Whatever you need.”
As his gaze trailed over my face and down my body, time seemed to stand still. I couldn’t tell how long we sat opposite one another while he worked through whatever thoughts and questions swirled in his head. And then, before I could register it happening, he shot out of his chair with a low groan, his hands cupping my cheeks as his mouth crashed down onto mine.
I fell backward, his hard, athletic body pressing me down into the mattress as he hungrily nipped at my lips. Beneath him, I adjusted my body to get more comfortable, and he groaned against my mouth. “You taste so fucking good,” he moaned, his tongue licking its way inside my mouth.
He rolled his hips against me with the next twist of his tongue and my cock pulsed with weeks of pent-up longing. I’d been crazy to ever think I didn’t want this. To deny that I’d wanted him before I even knew him, and that my desire had only grown stronger, more intense. Right now, he wasn’t the sexy star quarterback who’d starred in my wildest fantasies, but rather, the strong, confident man who held himself with a sort of quiet, intense pride even though he had every right to boast and preen.
“I didn’t know,” he marveled, trailing kisses from my lips to my jaw and then down my neck. “I never fucking knew.”
“What didn’t you know?” I asked in an attempt to keep him talking despite my desire to pull him back to my mouth.
He pushed up onto his elbows and stared down at me for a beat, his eyes flicking between mine as if searching for something he couldn’t put a name to. His chest sawed in and out with deep, heavy breaths, his lips red and swollen from the urgency of our kisses. “I think you might be right about me,” he said at last, dropping down to press his mouth to mine again. He kissed me soft and slow, like we had all the time in the world to explore one another, and stars flew behind my eyelids.
Eventually, with a deep sigh, he pulled away and flopped back against my headboard, pushing his hands through his hair and groaning. “I had to stop myself.” His cheeks turned pink with the honesty of his admission, and his gaze darted away.
I laughed and pulled him into my chest. “I like you too, Oliver.”
8
Elijah
It was another Friday night in the mansion, and the crowning ceremony had just wrapped up. I was surprised to have made it another week as I’d gone on Monday’s group date but hadn’t spoken much with Allie since. During tonight’s cocktail party, we’d had our guaranteed fifteen minutes together, but the conversation had been far from romantic. Not that I’d expected it to be. It was more than evident by this point that we hadn’t developed any deep, lasting feelings for one another. Now, it was only a matter of time until she sent me home.